


Two Wrongs Make a Right if You Try Hard Enough

by Anini



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anger, Arguing, Bad Cooking, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Narcolepsy, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepy Boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13152909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anini/pseuds/Anini
Summary: Jeremy and Michael have to figure out how to settle their disputes and differences. Michael has to learn how to deal with Jeremy's bitchy PTSD and narcolepsy, and Jeremy has to learn how to trust people again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I (obviously) do not own Be More Chill, or any of the characters. This is written purely for fun.

Michael Mell always felt misunderstood. When he tried to show his feelings without throwing in jokes to make it less awkward, people thought he was weird. 

The only person who actually understands Michael is his best friend, Jeremy. They've been friends since before they could walk, and they do everything together. Michael had seen it all. He'd seen Jeremy throw up after eating strawberry cake, he'd seen Jeremy scream at the teacher in class, and he'd seen Jeremy go through everything with the SQUIP.

Michael glances at his friends sleeping figure on the bean bag next to him. Drool is collecting in a puddle under his mouth. Michael pauses (generic video game©) and drops his controller in his lap.

“Dude, that's so gross.” Michael shakes Jeremy’s shoulder. 

Jeremy jolts awake and looks around before putting his hand to the corner of his mouth. His eyebrows furrow when he realizes what he's touching.

“Wha- When did I fall 'sleep?” He asks incredulously. 

His words are still slurred and his voice is stuffy from sleep, but Michael can easily decode what he's saying. If he knew what Jeremy was saying after he got stung by a bee on his tongue, he can easily understand what sleepy Jeremy says. 

Michael motions with his controller at the screen, “Right after this level. You were out like a light.” 

Jeremy sighs and sits up. Michael snorts in a failed effort to hold in his laughter. Jeremy’s hair is sticking up at odd ends, and his eyes are all puffy. Jeremy glares at him, and Michael immediately stops laughing. 

“I'm okay. Just haven't been sleeping to well lately. Sorry about that.” he motions to the puddle of drool. 

Michael waves it off, “Those bean bags are crap anyways,” He sighs and switches off his (generic game console©).

“You wanna grab something to eat?” Michael tries to phrase things in questions for Jeremy. That way it doesn't feel like he's being forced to do something. When people give Jeremy commands he gets anxious, because it just reminds of the SQUIP. Jeremy has never built up a good way to take care of his mental health. That had always been Michael’s job.

Jeremy ponders the question for a while. A little bit too long for Michael’s taste. Michael is about to ask him again, but then Jeremy nods. They turn to head upstairs and both unconsciously make the decision to race up the stairs. 

Jeremy almost trips since he's still pretty groggy. Michael grabs his arm to steady him.

“Woaaah, you alright?” He asks kindly.

“Um… yeah. I kind of spaced out for a second there. Like, everything was kind of fading out but I was aware of it.” Jeremy’s nose is scrunched up a little, “Can you let go of my arm? You're hurting me, dude.” 

Michael drops his arm. 

“Sorry…” He responds sheepishly. He's been told he gets too aggressive without noticing sometimes. Usually, it's because he's worried. “I think you got a gray out.” Michael informs Jeremy.

They step into the kitchen and squint from the light that streams through the windows. 

Jeremy pipes up, “What's a gray out?” 

“Oh, I get them all the time. When I stretch my body kind of shuts down momentarily and I lose control of it. I've fallen down a couple times. So I guess the sudden movement of you running triggered it.” Michael jumped at the opportunity to answer the question while simultaneously digging through the cupboards. 

Jeremy opens the drawers and moves on to the fridge after finding them empty.

“All you've got here is a soft tomato, half of a lemon, a smashed clove of garlic, and a can of cat food. You don't even have a cat!” Jeremy chuckles, “I hope you're not eating cat food, Mike.” He falls into another fit of laughter. 

Michael joins him before trying to explain the cat food. 

“Hey, there was a stray cat that I used to feed. I'm not that weird.” 

Michael pulls out a box of dry spaghetti from the cupboard. 

“This is the only thing I could find,” He scratches the back of his neck.

“Are you kidding me? You need to learn how to shop.” Jeremy chides him. “In the meantime, this is ‘Level 10: Try not to cook a poisonous meal.’”

Michael stares at Jeremy blankly. 

“I don't cook.” He states in a dead tone. 

Jeremy chuckles maliciously. “Well, that's gonna change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely rebooted everything because some people weren't happy with this. I've edited the chapters and re-uploaded them. Enjoy!


	2. Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bois try to cook. It does not go well.

Michael Mell doesn’t cook. What part of that does Jeremy not understand? Yet here he is, filling a burned saucepan with water. 

“Turn on the stove,” Jeremy instructs quickly while he continues to move around the kitchen, grabbing any items he needs. A cutting board and a knife are carried delicately to the counter.

Jeremy can only hold the knife a certain way now. He used to hold it pointing outwards when he walked, but after he accidentally stabbed Michael’s hand he forces himself to hold it down, next to his leg. 

Michael turns the knob on the stove and listens to the incessant clicking sound. He backs up a little. It’s still clicking and the fire hasn’t turned on yet. A loud whoosh fills the air and the fire suddenly jumps up, almost singing the ends of Michael’s hair.

“Woah, what’s going on?” Jeremy turns around with a confused look on his face. 

“This is why I don’t cook.” Michael just wants to find any excuse he can to get out of this before he burns his house down.

“Oh, come on, it’s just a little gas explosion.” Jeremy waves it off. 

Michael places the pot of water on the stovetop and stirs it. 

Jeremy sidles over and looks at Michael in confusion and amusement. “What are you doing?”

Michael puts on his offended face and responds, “Cooking.”

Jeremy snatches the wooden spoon from him and dumps some salt into the water. “You don’t stir water. Have you been living under a rock for your whole life?” Jeremy quickly adds, “And the salt helps the water boil faster.” 

Michael grumbles something about cooking water and resists the urge to snatch the spoon from Jeremy so he can start stirring again.

He stares blankly at the water. It's like watching paint dry. A few bubbles start to form and pop. They quickly grow until the water is dancing in the pot, threatening to boil over. 

Michael wants to grab the lid but he can't seem to move his arm. He watches helplessly as the water rises higher and higher, until it finally hisses as it evaporates. Even though he'd never admit it, he likes watching the water boil over. The sound it makes when it hits the dry sides of the pot is the most satisfying thing he's ever heard.

Jeremy is at the crime scene in a second. He swiftly gets rid of the lid and hands Michael the spaghetti.

“Do I just put it in the water?” Michael fixes his eyes on the packaging and tries to read the instructions. 

“Yeah, go for it.” Jeremy is chopping something behind him but he doesn't want to turn around just in case the water boils over again. 

Michael shrugs and dumps the box of pasta into the water. Oh. They're too tall to fit. 

“Um, Jeremy?” He pokes Jeremy’s arm and points to the sad looking spaghetti that is standing up in the pot. 

“You did it like that? Normally I would just crack it in half, but that works I guess.” Jeremy continues chopping. 

Michael takes the spaghetti out of the water and tries to crack it, biting his lip when he realizes it's still hot. He hastily throws it back into the water and stirs it. Ha! Now he's getting the hang of it! The spaghetti loses its stiff form and seems to liquidate. 

Jeremy is mixing something in a glass bowl. 

He turns the fire down and whispers, “Don't burn.” This wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. “What’re you doing over there Jerm?” 

“Don't call me a germ you idiot,” Jeremy throws an insult right back at him. 

“Language!” Michael shouts a little too loudly. 

“I'm not allowed to say 'idiot’?” Jeremy hands Michael the bowl of… whatever he was making.

“What's this?” Michael stirs it around with the spoon, testing the consistency. It's weird, yellowish, watery stuff.

“It's sauce,” Jeremy says. “Idiot,” he adds quietly. 

Michael thinks about calling him out, but decides against it. He drinks a little bit of the sauce and coughs. 

“What did you put in this?!” Michael all but screams. His mouth twists. “Crap, that's horrible!” He exclaims. 

“Language!” Jeremy screams mockingly. “It's called lemon juice, ever heard of it?” 

“Whatever, man.” 

Michael sniffs. Something smells… burnt. Just slightly. Realization dawns on him and he doesn't want to turn around. 

He closes his eyes and spins around slowly… Oh. Michael sighs and turns off the fire. All the water had decided to dry up and it left behind a slightly burned, mushy mess. Why had it cooked so fast? He only turned around for two minutes. 

Michael read the packaging again. “Cook for 3-4 minutes.” Well, shit. That was definitely more than 3-4 minutes. Jeremy still hadn't noticed. 

“How's the spagh-? Oh.” Jeremy tries to stir it in a futile attempt to save their meal. 

Michael opens the drawer and pulls out a phone book. “We can order pizza,” He flips the book open and thumbs through the names until he lands on the right one. He taps the number twice and punches it into his phone. Michael's not really disappointed with the outcome. In fact, he was kind of expecting it.

“... Yeah, that'll be all.” Michael locks his eyes on Jeremy’s with the phone still on his ear and says, “The name is Jerm.” 

“I frickin’ hate you!” Jeremy hisses. His amused face says otherwise. 

Michael hangs up the phone and sits down at the kitchen table, intertwining his hands and placing them behind his head. “Now, we wait.” 

Jeremy sits down at the table after disposing of their failed project. “Wanna play (generic video game©)?” He rests his elbow on the table and holds his chin as he waits for a response. 

Michael grins and opens his eyes, “Sure,”

They race down the stairs to the basement again and throw themselves on the beanbags. As soon as they've settled in, the doorbell rings. 

Jeremy stands up. “I'll get it,”

He runs up the stairs two at a time. Michael hears the creaky front door open. He continues button mashing until he hears a scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment so I can feel important and have willpower to finish this story!


	3. Mountain dew red is gross

Michael practically throws his controller on the floor and runs up the stairs as fast as he can. He bolts through the kitchen and finds the pizza guy staring at Jeremy in confusion. 

“Everything okay?” Michael asks out of breath.

Jeremy is sitting in the floor and clutching his chest. Michael shoves twenty bucks into the guy’s hand and takes the pizza box from him.

“Keep the change,” Michael puts his hand on the door knob. 

“Uh, thanks. Have a good night.” He walks out the door scratching the back of his neck. He is obviously perplexed. 

Michael squats down next to Jeremy. He waves his hand in front of Jeremy’s face.   
“Yo. Earth to Jeremy.” Michael snaps a couple times. 

Jeremy slowly shakes his head and tries to stand up. His legs are shaking too much, so he just sits back down. After a long silence, he finally speaks. 

“He… he sounded exactly like him.” Jeremy whispers. His face is completely blank. Even Michael can't tell what he's feeling.

“The SQUIP?” Michael immediately regrets saying that. “Just, um… let me get you a Mountain Dew Red™, okay?” He says. 

He opens the cupboard. Shoot. There's only two left. He swipes the can closest to him and blows the dust off the top. It's been a while since Jeremy actually needed one of these. 

He hands the can to Jeremy’s slouching figure. He fumbles with the tab for a few seconds before giving it back to Michael. Michael taps the side of the can and snaps the tab open easily. The soda fizzes and settles down. Jeremy holds out a pair of shaking hands and squeezes his eyes shut before downing a huge gulp. 

“I… I hate this stuff,” He grumbles, “it's not even good.” 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and finishes the can. He burps and stands up so he can smash the red container. That's always the best part of drinking it to him. 

Michael pulls his hand from his mouth. He didn't even notice he was biting his nails. 

“Is that better?” He asks. 

Jeremy nods. “I think I need to lie down for a bit, though. Got a killer headache.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. I think I'm going to write quick chapters, but I'll be posting once or twice a day. Leave a comment/like so I can get validation.


	4. BLOOD EVERYWHERE

Michael Mell doesn't crack under pressure. He thrives on it. Unlike most, he is able to keep calm and push away stress until the worst is over. So whenever Jeremy starts having a breakdown, Michael always offers logical solutions, not emotional support. He's used to approaching situations by rationalizing.

It's a blessing and a curse. If someone is crying, a solution to their problem is helpful in the long run, but what they want most is emotional support. So Michael stays away from crying people as much as he can. It's usually awkward anyways. 

“Do you want an ice pack?” He calls to Jeremy. 

Jeremy groans. “Yes,” 

Michael picks up the ice pack and almost drops it on Jeremy before he remembers it's frozen ice. Solid ice dropped on head ≠ good. Jeremy holds the ice pack to his head and winces at how cold it is. 

Michael’s stomach growls. “Remember that one time when your dad made grilled cheese sandwiches? That was the best thing I've ever tasted. He should open a restaurant or something.” He muses out loud. 

Jeremy narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You never talk about food unless you're hungry. Go eat.” Jeremy shifts the ice pack. “Don't wait for me, I'll have some pizza later. Right now, I just need to freeze my brain (A/N: Props if you got that reference).”

Michael wants to refuse, but he can't deny the feeling of emptiness in his stomach. 

“I'll be right back. Don't do anything crazy.” Michael says. 

He opens the pizza box and picks up a couple pieces. Thank goodness they're still warm. He wolfs them down faster than you can say, 'Quantum Nanotechnology CPU’. Michael forces himself to slow down a little, because he really, really, doesn't want to bite his tongue. 

“Shit!” 

Michael hears the exclamation from the other room. He stops chewing so he can listen. He doesn't bother to make a snide remark about 'language’ because he's picked up the concern in Jeremy's tone.

“Everything okay?” Michael shouts. 

Jeremy responds, his voice slightly shaky. “Yeah… yeah, I'm fine. Just, uh… can you bring me a tissue? A whole box actually.” He sounds as if he's plugging his nose and talking. 

Michael picks up a stack of napkins and adheres to Jeremy’s strange request. He steps back into the room, pizza in one hand, napkins in the other. He drops the pizza and barely stops himself from dropping the napkins.

Michael points at Jeremy stupidly. 

“You're bleeding!” He exclaims.

Jeremy frowns and tilts his head back. He's pinching his nose with one hand and reaching out for the tissues with the other. Blood is running down his arm slowly. Some of it is already dry. 

“I know. Give me,” He makes a swipe for the napkins. 

Michael finally hands them to him. Jeremy stuffs them under his nose and continues pinching the bridge of his nose. He leans his head back and makes a sour face when he swallows blood. 

Michael’s back in action. “No, no. Tilt your head forward.” He pushes Jeremy's head forward gently. 

Jeremy meekly obeys and continues wiping blood with his napkins. He's already thrown a handful of bloodstained tissues in the wastebasket. It looks like a crime scene. 

Michael thought the bleeding would have slowed after a minute. “Holy heck dude, that's a lot of blood.” 

Jeremy’s throat gurgles when he replies, “I can taste it.”

Michael feels around for the ice pack and curls his fingers around it. It's melting, but it's fine. He holds it against Jeremy’s forehead. 

Jeremy’s face is rapidly turning pale. More napkins fill up the trash can. The bleeding doesn't slow down at all, and it's been at least five minutes. Jeremy gasps. 

Michael gets a good look at his face. Jeremy's eyes are shut tight, and he's holding his breath.

“Hey, listen to me. Jeremy.” He says. 

Jeremy opens his eyes a tiny bit. 

“Breath. Come on. You're gonna faint if you don't.” 

Jeremy nods and takes in a shaky breath. Michael starts to breathe loudly so that Jeremy has something to follow along with. 

“Michael, I think I'm going to pass out,” He whispers faintly. 

Everything seems fuzzy to Michael. He usually doesn't panic, but he can feel the fear rising up in his chest. Jeremy’s nose has been bleeding for way too long. He's lost a lot of blood. 

“No, you're fine. Come on, sit up.” Michael is trying his hardest to coach Jeremy, but he can't even think of what to do. 

Jeremy leans his head back and coughs on the blood that runs down his throat. 

“Jeremy, tilt forwards! Not backwards!” Michael tries to push his head forwards slowly, but Jeremy is resisting. 

“No… I'm gonna fall down…” Jeremy's words are slurred.

“Buddy, you're going to be fine. Just sit up. Come on.” Michael pleads.

He refuses to sit up or put his head forward. Michael mops up as much blood as he can. Eventually, the bleeding starts to slow down a little until it's just a trickle. Jeremy isn't talking anymore. His eyes are closed, and the occasional twitch of his eyebrows are the only indicator that he's alive. 

“Jeremy, are you awake? Your nose isn't bleeding that much, you can sit up now.” Michael says.

“Michael… I think I'm gonna-” Jeremy suddenly snaps his eyes open and stands up. 

He crumples to the floor with a thump. 

“Jeremy!’ 

Michael jumps up and hooks his hands underneath Jeremy's arms. He hoists him up and sits him down. Jeremy resists and has a hand on his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and furrows his eyebrows before he throws up. All over the couch. 

"Is this what it's like to be on your period?" Jeremy mumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the heckers mate? Almost forgot to write this chapter today.


	5. He's back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parentheses either means it's the squip taking, or it's Jeremy thinking. When Jeremy is thinking, quotation marks and parentheses will be used. Hopefully that's not to confusing. Enjoy!

Michael huffs and rubs the vomit stains harder with a paper towel. He is incredibly grateful that he had a pair of rubber gloves underneath the sink. To be honest, he doesn't remember putting them there. It was probably left behind by his parents. He hopes they're happy, wherever they are. 

Just because he wasn't the smartest in school didn't give them any reason to ignore him. How many times did he wake up crying, asking for his mom? How many times did he try to talk to his dad, but he would brush him off? I'm busy, we’re tired. Yes, well, so was he.

Michael is glad he had a moment to sink into his thoughts. That way, he doesn't have to think about the horrifying task at hand. He knows he's done when the stain isn't fading anymore.

“Okay…” he says to himself. “Jeremy, did you eat the chocolate I gave you yet?”

Jeremy weakly displays the candy wrapper to him. He's splayed out on the couch with a small piece of a tissue stuck in his nose. 

“I feel a little better. I'm still kind of light headed, though.” Jeremy admits. 

Michael tosses the paper towel in the trash. “At least you can talk now.” He hesitates before going on. “You know, you worried me. You need to take care of yourself, buddy.” 

Jeremy bites into another candy bar and starts talking with his mouth full. “I couldn't think straight. When you said to tilt my head forwards, I just contradicted it. I didn't know what I was doing. It just reminded me of…” He pauses. “The SQUIP.” 

“Yeah, I get that. But maybe you should take some time to learn what to do in situations like these. As much as I hate to admit it, I won't always be around to help.” 

Jeremy grunts and finishes off the bar. He crumples the wrapper and holds it in his hand. He's using all his willpower to not go into defense mode. He knows Michael is just trying to help, but he can't deny the feeling that he's being criticised.   
The stupid SQUIP. It ruined his mind. He envies the way he used to be able to think - rationally. Now, he feels anxious. When someone tells him “Jump!” His response is not, “How high?” Instead, it's a whirlwind of “What if I don't jump high enough? What if I mess up?” 

He wants to tell Michael. He really does. He just doesn't feel ready yet. 

“You're quiet.” Michael points out, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

Jeremy jumps. “Uh- I… I don't know.” 

(Tone down the stuttering, idiot.)

What the fuck? 

“No!” Jeremy yells. 

“What? Who are you talking to?” Michael stops cleaning his glasses. 

“Nothing… I'm just… just feeling a little nauseous.” Jeremy lies through his teeth.

(Liar.)

("Shut up.")Jeremy counters. 

He's learned to fight with the voice in his head. He doesn't even know if it's his anymore. 

“Alright, get up Jeremy. We're going for a walk.” Michael shoves his glasses back on his face. 

He holds out a hand to Jeremy. Jeremy takes it and… nothing. He can't move his legs. 

(You're not going anywhere.)


	6. Oh no it's time to fight

“Jeremy? Let's go,” Michael prompts. 

Jeremy clenches his jaw and can't seem to control his breathing. Beads of sweat start to show up on his forehead. 

“I can't move!” He exclaims with frustration. His fingers curl up and his knuckles whiten.

Michael sighs. “Okay, very funny. Come on, get up.” 

Jeremy gasps, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. Does he not understand? He can't move his legs because the stupid robot in his brain won't let him. Jeremy is almost crying now, and the only thing stopping him is his embarrassment. 

“Michael, listen to me. I can not move my legs.” Jeremy says through clenched teeth. His legs aren't just stiff - they're starting to cramp.

Michael backs up a little and scratches the back of his head. “Is it… you know? Um, the...”

“Why can't you just say it? What's your problem?! I'm not a piece of glass, I won't break. Stop treating me like some kind of fragile, broken person. I am fine.” Jeremy hisses. 

Michael is taken aback. Jeremy just blew up out of nowhere. He opens his mouth to say something, and closes it again. His eyebrows are furrowed and he chews his lip. He hates conflict. He fiddles with the bridge of his glasses and waits for Jeremy to say something, anything. 

After a ten second silence that feels like an hour, he speaks. 

“I'm sorry.” Michael says. 

Michael hates apologizing. Jeremy knows that. The hardest thing for Michael to do is to back down, but sometimes he knows it's the only option. Michael would rather avoid conflict and crush his pride instead of letting a problem grow. 

Jeremy hates when people apologize. He doesn't want to be right. It makes him feel like a little kid, because it means that the other person is being mature and acknowledging their mistake while he continues to fight. 

“Is that all you know how to say? ‘Sorry?’ Why don’t you fight back like a normal person? You never face the problem. You just apologize and expect everything to be fine.” Jeremy looks Michael in the eye. He hates the taste of the words in his mouth, but he can’t stop.

Michael hunches his shoulders and fixes his eyes on the wall. He’s right. He doesn’t know how to fight. 

“Just say something!!” Jeremy screams. 

The veins in his neck pop out and his face is colored a shade of bright red. His neck is strained as he takes in ragged breaths, one after another. 

Michael’s eyes have grown wide. A look of sorrow and fear is crossing over his face. He can't stand people yelling at him, but what is he supposed to do? He can't yell back, Jeremy is clearly wound up. 

Michael tries one more time. “Jeremy, slow down. You're hyperventilating.” His voice is soft. Jeremy hates it. It makes him feel like Michael is mocking him for acting so childish.

Jeremy gulps in air and pulls on the start threads sticking out of the couch. Tears well up in his eyes and he looks at Michael. “I'm such a failure. I can't even breathe right...” he trails off.

Michael’s heart breaks. “Don't say that.” 

“Why not? It’s true.” Jeremy sounds cold.

Michael places his hands on Jeremy’s shoulders and looks him in the eye firmly. “This isn’t you talking. Stop it.” How can his voice be so gentle and commanding at the same time? 

Jeremy shakes his head. Not a shake of protest, no. More like he’s shaking something off or silencing a voice in his head. His eyes clear and he starts crying.

“I’m sorry,” He whimpers, “Sorry.”

Michael pats his back and hugs him. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re okay.”

That's how it always is. A flash out of nowhere, and it ends out of nowhere. One second Jeremy is fine, and the moment when you'd least expect him to have a mood swing, he does. It's scary. Michael knows how to handle it though. 

He starts to pull away from Jeremy to give him some space. Jeremy hangs on a little tighter, his fingers grabbing the fabric of Michael's shirt.

“Wait… can we just stay like this? For a little bit?” Jeremy mumbles.

Michael takes his glasses off. “Yeah,” he says softly, “Yeah, we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuse for the late update except that i was uhh, busy. Yeah, busy, that's it. Not lazy. B-u-s-y. (Not cuz I was too lazy to write lol that would never happen :)))) oh and this was the chapter where I remembered Michael has glasses.


	7. Chapter 7

Jeremy cracks his eyes open and has a moment of panic. When did he fall asleep? And why is Michael breathing in his face? Oh, right. He got angry again and did something stupid. Slowly, his memories come back and he feels horribly guilty for all the things he said. He moves a little and feels a slight pain in his stomach. He stands up and runs to the bathroom, not even bothering to lift the seat before he relieves himself. He washes his hands and splashes water on his face.

No wonder Michael laughed at him last time he woke up. His eyes are puffy and he looks like an angry wet cat. He rubs his eyes and goes back to the couch. Michael is awake now, just barely. He yawns and stretches. A couple joints crack. He grins at Jeremy.

“Mornin’.” Michael says, his eyes roving around the room as he tries to focus them. He looks funny without his glasses. His face seems smaller without them.

Jeremy laughs. “It’s one in the afternoon.” He doesn’t really feel embarrassed for falling asleep on his friend. It’s happened before anyways. When they were kids they would just use each others stomachs as pillows.

Michael has red button marks on his face, presumably from Jeremy’s shirt. They’ll fade away in a minute. Michael stands up and runs to the bathroom, grabbing his crotch.

“Nature calls!” He shouts from the hallway. Jeremy smiles and slouches as far back as he can. His mind is always a little slow when he wakes up. He remembers something. He didn’t lift the seat.

“Michael’s going to kill me,” He mutters to himself. He sits up and tries to look as sleepy as possible so he won’t get blamed. 

Michael sits back down on the couch and looks at Jeremy through narrowed eyes. Jeremy pretends he doesn’t see. 

“Wanna go play video games?” He offers. He knows Michael will forget if he puts his mind on something else.

“Sure,” 

Michael doesn’t look mad. He actually has a smile on his face most of the time, so it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling. Jeremy chugs a glass of water and joins Michael in the basement. They warm up for a few minutes until they can actually aim correctly. Jeremy always takes longer to warm up, so he has to try a little bit harder than Michael does. They shoot back insults at each other, all in good fun.

“You suck!”

“My grandma could have headshot that guy.”

“Your grandma is dead.”

“True,”

“Uninstall!”

They play until their thumbs are too sore to even press buttons anymore. They simultaneously flop back on their respective bean bags and look at the final score. Jeremy pretends like he doesn’t care if he won or lost, but he’s secretly hoping he won. It’s been a while since they played for this long.

Player 1: 342 pts.  
Player 2: 407 pts.

Jeremy leans back into the bean bag. “Congratulations,” he says to Michael, sticking his hand out for a handshake.

Michael puffs his chest out and shakes Jeremy’s hand vigorously. “You have yet to beat me.  
“ He announces triumphantly.

Jeremy shakes his head, “I know,” He crosses one leg, “I’m getting there.” 

“Hey, but that’s your highest score yet! Plus, I got a lot more practice during the summer.” Michael says.

“Save the consolation prize for later.” Jeremy jokes.

Michael laughs and combs his hair back through his fingers. They sit in silence for a few seconds before Jeremy’s stomach decides to make a dying whale noise. Michael pokes Jeremy’s tummy.

“You hungry?” He asks.

Jeremy nods. “Yeah, but I’m kind of sick of ordering food. We should try to make something.” He offers. Michael shoots him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on, we’ll do it the right way this time.” 

“Okay.” Michael says. He tries to keep his voice steady to hide the underlying excitement. 

Jeremy hasn’t left the house much after the whole incident with the SQUIP. He may have developed some kind of anxiety of being around people he doesn’t know or trust. Michael has tried many times over the past months to get him out of the house, but it’s always ended with disaster. 

Michael grabs his wallet and keys and runs up the stairs. Jeremy trails behind him reluctantly and leans against the door frame.

Michael places his hand on the door knob. “Let’s go,” He beams at Jeremy.

Jeremy scratches his neck and looks at the floor. He shuffles his feet. “I don’t think…” He doesn’t even need to finish the sentence. Michael already knows.

He can feel his smile fading away and his stomach drops a little. “Oh. Do you want to write me a list then?” Michael doesn’t see the point in pushing him.

Jeremy takes a piece of paper and starts scribbling furiously. He always writes like that. It’s as if there’s a sense of urgency to it. Michael stands by quietly, but his mind is buzzing. 

“Hey, Jeremy. Can express an idea?” 

Jeremy hands him the list. “Shoot,”

“Do you want to come with me and just sit in the car? You don’t have to come down. Plus, it’s already dark, so no one will see you. You don’t even have to change. Please?” Michael asks hopefully. 

Jeremy’s face is blank - completely devoid of emotion. Michael can’t even figure out what he’s thinking. But the way his mouth is tugging down and his lips are tightening… the crease between his eyebrows…

Jeremy completely contradicts Michael’s analysis. “Fine.” He sighs and pulls his worn out shoes on. Michael is inwardly screaming with joy. He did it! For the first time in months, he’s finally got him to go somewhere. It’s a small victory, but it means the world to Michael.

“Anyways, I bet you wouldn’t have been able to find the stuff on your own.” Jeremy says jokingly.

Michael swings the door open, maybe a little too eagerly. His bright mood seems to be rubbing off on Jeremy, who even manages a little skip on the way to the car. He bounds ahead of Michael and laughs a little.

“It’s been so long since I skipped. It’s so much fun.” He muses aloud and jiggles the car door.

Michael got rid of his Cruiser a while ago. Not just because he didn’t like being made fun of for having an old car - it actually started to break down. He bought an old Camry for pretty cheap and it hasn’t failed him yet. 

Michael unlocks the car door and sits in the driver’s seat. He turns expecting Jeremy to be putting his seat belt on, but he’s still outside the car. Did he change his mind? Jeremy taps the window and says through the glass,

“Let me in!” His voice is muffled, but Michael can hear the slight amount of panic in it. He quickly reaches over and presses the lock. Jeremy slides into the car and bounces his leg.

“I opened the door at the same time you unlocked it, so I couldn’t get in.” He explains, “It’s cold outside.”

Michael tries not to laugh at Jeremy, he really does. But it’s just so stupid that he can’t help but laugh, especially when Jeremy weakly tries to change the subject. 

“Put your seatbelt on. You know, a lot of people who would have survived car accidents if they were wea-” 

Jeremy clips the seatbelt. “I know, I know. Not like you’d ever get in an accident. You drive like a grandma.” 

Michael pretends to be offended and tugs Jeremy’s seatbelt to make sure it’s actually buckled. He releases the parking brake and backs out slowly. Michael doesn’t like to talk or have music on when he drives because he just finds it distracting. He already has a bad attention span, so he has to use all his energy just to focus on the road. 

Jeremy rests his head on the window. The cool glass feels nice against the warmth of his face. The lights flash by in a blur of color, and he finds himself falling to sleep. He shakes his head a little, earning a quick look from Michael.

“You can take a nap if you want. You’re probably tired anyways.” Michael says. He cranes his neck a little to see the car on his left. 

Jeremy shifts the angle of his neck. “‘Kay.” He mumbles. His eyelids are so heavy he can barely hold them open. Before he falls to sleep, he hears Michael say something.

“You sure do sleep a lot these days.” Michael muses. 

And after that, he’s out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a longer chapter this time I guess. I have to start math again, rip in peace.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just a huge meme

Michael pulls into the Albert’s parking lot and glances at Jeremy’s sleeping figure. The kid is knocked out. Michael doesn't want to worry him, but he learned about something similar to this when browsing the web. Narcolepsy is a strange condition that can affect even the best of us. It causes daytime drowsiness, thus creating the need to sleep, as in Jeremy’s case, around the clock.   
Michael doesn't want to say anything because of the, you know, placebo effect.  
“That's stupid, it wouldn't work for something like this…” Michael catches himself mumbling aloud.  
You can't give yourself narcolepsy. But it really does look like Jeremy is developing it. He sleeps for at least ten hours every night, and he takes frequent naps during the day. He falls asleep as if he doesn't have control over it.   
Jeremy mutters something and his tilts forwards. Michael regretfully taps him on the shoulder.   
“Wake up, buddy.” He prompts.   
Jeremy doesn't even stir.   
Now Michael really feels bad. Should he shake him until he wakes up or should he leave him be? Jeremy probably wouldn't be mad if he leaves him in the car and runs into the store. Probably.  
“Well, at least I can tell him I tried to wake him up.” Michael says after lightly slapping Jeremy's shoulder.   
He closes the car door as quietly as he can with it still actually closing so he doesn't have to do the awkward unlock-the-car-and-slam-the-door. He checks and double checks to make sure the car is locked before feeling around in his pocket for the shopping list. It's damn good that he remembered to pick this up.  
Stoor parking lots in the darkness feel like an alternate dimension. They have those weird lights that make everything look yellow and it feels… humid? Anyways, they make Michael uncomfortable, so he walks across the parking lot at his top speed.   
Michael strategically plans his way around the aisles and is out of the store in less than ten minutes. And yes, he got every item on the list. He does the awkward I-haven’t-picked-up-my-change-and-the-guy-behind-me-is-getting-closer dance and out of habit checks his watch.  
7:48 pm.  
“Okay, this is fine. Jeremy's probably still asleep. Everything is fine.” Michael desperately says to no one.  
Everything was not fine :)  
(Boom fast forward to ya boi jerm)  
Jeremy shifts out of darkness and into… more darkness.   
For a moment, he freezes up and his brain fires a million questions at him, each one demanding an answer.   
Why am I in the car? Where's Michael? Did he just leave me here? Does he hate me? I mean, you kind of left him alone that one time.   
Oh, hahaha that's not his brain :) that's the stupid robot in his brain.  
“Can you just fuck off already?” Jeremy says, his voice still thick from sleep.  
Language :) :)  
The SQUIP imitates Michael's voice very poorly.  
“How did you even say ‘:)’ out loud?”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i wrote this last night after eating 6 potato chips and i completely ruined this whole fic (not like it wasn't ruined before hahahacoughcoughahaha)


	9. Sad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to this while you read the chapter: "I just want to be happy" by Ambition.

The SQUIP won’t shut up. Jeremy finally realizes that ignoring him won’t do anything. Fine, if the SQUIP is going to sink so low as to start using childish techniques, he will too.  
“Alright, that’s it. I can’t stand listening to you anymore.” Jeremy plugs his ears and hums as loud as he can, drowning out the incessant babbling of the computer.   
Jeremy’s voice is about to go out when he realizes the SQUIP has stopped throwing bitter words around in his head. Maybe he’s just good at blocking it out. Too good. That’s not exactly a skill he’s proud of. It ends up being a roadblock because Jeremy doesn’t accept any words easily anymore.   
He leans back into the chair and rubs his eyes. He likes the colors that explode behind his closed eyes lids. When he opens his eyes again, the spots decorate the car. He flips the car mirror open and peers at his reflection warily. Damn it. He goes to sleep for five minutes and his hair is all over the place. No matter how much he brushes it, it insists upon flowing its own way. At this point, he’s given up.   
Jeremy lets his hands linger in his hair for a moment longer. It feels soft under his palms even though it’s messy. He tries to run his hand through his hair like he sees Michael do, but his fingers get stuck in a tangle.  
“Fuck!” He whispers harshly. He manages to pull his fingers from the tangle. “Never doing that again.”   
He can’t stop himself from stealing nervous glances out the windows at intervals. It’s been a while since Michael left the car. Where is he? Maybe someone threw a jar at his head? That’s actually not a far guess. Michael has a tendency to get into scrapes, even in a situation where anyone else shouldn’t be able to.  
If you put Michael in an empty room with a pillow, he would hurt himself in two seconds.   
“I tripped over it.”   
Jeremy laughs dryly at the scenario in his head. That’s exactly what Michael would say.   
The silence of the parking lot is sinking in and Jeremy feels uneasy for no plausible reason. His palms start to sweat, and he wipes them on his pants over and over, but they still don’t dry. He’s afraid to breathe. He takes a breath and almost chokes on it. It feels like he’s breathing through a wet towel. He jiggles the door handle and fumbles around until his fingers instinctively push down on the unlock button. The colors swirling in front of his eyes aren’t comforting anymore. He lets his legs hang over the edge of the car and takes a deep breath. The cold air that enters his lungs hurts the back of his throat.   
Jeremy closes his eyes and forces himself to use his other senses. He feels the wind softly pulling his hair back. The sound of a shopping cart rattling. The smell of gasoline. The strange   
“I just woke up” taste in his mouth. He hears footsteps, uneven and heavy. He smiles and still doesn’t open his eyes.   
“Yo, germ boy! Open your eyes! I got you something.” Michael taps the top of his head playfully and starts unloading groceries into the backseat.   
Jeremy pulls his legs back into the car and doesn’t bother to open his eyes. Michael drops something in his lap. Cold. Heavy.  
“They didn’t have any Mountain Dew. Sorry.” Michael throws the last item into the car and walks off to return the shopping cart.   
Jeremy finally opens his eyes. He laughs, and then he feels a surge of emotion pummel him. He’s crying.   
Otter Pops.  
He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. Why is he crying over God damn frozen ice popsicles?   
Michael clambers into the car and swivels around so he can see Jeremy’s face. His smile breaks a little. Jeremy is staring at the pile of popsicles in his lap while tears are dripping down his face. Michael can barely see Jeremy’s face because of the hair framing it.   
“Why are you crying?” Michael asks incredulously. He resists the urge to lower his head to get a look at Jeremy’s face.  
Jeremy turns his head towards the window. “I’m not.” His hands are closed around the Otter Pops. He pulls his sleeve up to his eyes again. “There’s just… It’s just my allergies.” He laughs again nervously.  
Michael takes his hands off the wheel and puts them back on again.   
“Jeremy,” He hesitates, “Jeremy. You’re not allergic to anything.”   
Jeremy sighs and faces Michael. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m crying. I saw the Otter Pops, and they just… they just fucking… I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m crying.” He repeats. He sniffs and tries to hold in the flow of tears. He angrily blots his eyes and huffs.   
Michael wraps his arm around Jeremy’s shoulder and squeezes him. “It’s okay. I get it.”   
They used to eat Otter Pops at Jeremy’s house all the time. Jeremy didn’t know how to open them, so his mom would do it for him. Michael always insisted upon doing it himself.   
Michael takes a popsicle from the string and rips the top off before he pushes it up and bites a huge chunk off. Jeremy takes a pink one and holds it out to Michael. He misses his mom.  
“Can you open it for me?” Jeremy asks sheepishly. He inhales shakily.  
Michael opens it silently and gives it back to him. So he still doesn’t know how to open them himself? Jeremy stares at it for a few seconds and then tentatively bites a piece off the edge. The car starts moving and he shifts forwards slightly. Lights fly past in a blur again. Michael breaks the silence.  
“You know what? Screw it.” He turns on the radio.  
Jeremy smiles a very small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey... yeah so I'm not dead, just lazy. I finally got myself to write another chapter, but I had a lot of fun writing it even if it's not that great. Love y'all <3


	10. somebody sick

Jeremy stumbles out of the car and stretches his cramped legs. Even with the seat all the way back, his long legs can’t seem to fit inside any car. He feels like a newborn horse with legs that are too long for his body that don’t obey his commands as easily as he wished. 

Michael lines up shopping bags on his arms, refusing to make more than one trip to the house. One of the bags won’t fit, but hel stubbornly tries to pick it up anyways. Jeremy takes it from him silently and starts swinging it back and forth, taking his time to get inside the house.

Jeremy yawns and drops the bag on the table. Michael’s face is overcome with panic for a second when he realizes he’s left the Otter Pops on the table in plain sight. He shoves them in the fridge and wipes up the puddle they leave behind. He opens the cupboards and starts shoving stuff in at random. 

Jeremy grabs his arm. “Wait! Can I do it? I like to organize things.” He says.

Michael leans back on his heels and nods. He kicks off his shoes and collapses on the sofa with a pronounced “Oof!” 

The kitchen tile is colder than Jeremy expected, but the change in temperature from the car is nice. He sits down, criss-cross and empties the contents of the first bag on his lap. 

“Be careful, there’s some glass containers.” Michael warns.

“Yeah,” Jeremy responds. He feels slightly sorry for not giving Michael a more constructed answer, but he’s annoyed for some reason. 

Jeremy finishes lining up the food on the shelves and lets himself slouch a little. He’s pleased with what Michael bought. Granted, he gave him a shopping list, but everything he chose is good. Nothing too weird. He stares at his hands and listens to the low drone of the TV mixed with Michael’s occasional half-laughs. He wonders what he’s watching. 

He could stand up if he wanted to, but that’s the thing - he doesn’t want to. 

The lines on his hands are so perfect, yet so stupidly misplaced. They don’t match on each hand, and it makes him frustrated. He curls up his fists and reaches into the cupboard for a Mountain Dew to stem the anger that he knows will explode if he doesn’t tone it down now.

He feels blindly for the spot where the cans should be. Nothing. He reaches his arm to the very back of the cupboard in a mad frenzy, desperately hoping for a can to meet his fingers. His mouth goes dry. 

“Jeremy, c’mon. Are you still on the floor?” Michael drops his head back. “You okay?” He adds when he sees how pale his friends face is.

“Yeah… yeah. I’m fine. See?” Jeremy stands up slowly.

He does not feel fine.

“I’m going to bed.” He croaks. 

“Mm.” 

Jeremy drags his feet down the hallway and sits on his bed. He clutches his head in his hands and coughs. He drops his hands and stares at them again. His vision is multiplying everything. He has four hands. Now six. He gasps for air and shakes his head, focusing his eyes again. Shaking. His hands are shaking. 

“Michael…” He meants for it to be a shout, not a pitiful whisper. 

The rush of saliva that floods his mouth can only mean one thing. Jeremy stands up and ignores the spinning world around him. He somehow finds himself in the bathroom, clutching the toilet seat and throwing up. The bile burns his throat and mouth, bringing hot tears to the corners of his eyes. He wishes it was over as soon as it starts. He crumbles to the floor, coughing and dry heaving. 

The acidic taste in his mouth is enough to make his stomach churn again. Someone is lifting him up. Michael must have heard him madly dash down the hall. Questions flood his ears, but he can’t understand any of them. 

“Are you okay? Are you sick?” Michael waves his hand in front of Jeremy’s eyes. 

Jeremy weakly pushes Michael’s arm of his shoulder. He pulls himself back to the toilet bowl and leans over it. He sinks back to the floor. He can’t tell if he threw up again or not. 

“Where the fuck is the Mountain Dew?” He mumbles before he tries to stand up. 

A thump sounds out and Michael is standing over him, screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up tomorrow perhaps? Thanks for reading you nerds, comments/likes always make my day.


	11. Angry

Michael hooks his arms under Jeremy's and hoists him up. “Stand up, buddy. There you go.” He coaches. 

Jeremy groans and uses the last of his strength to straighten his legs. Michael practically drags him to the couch and drops him on it. 

“What's wrong?” It seems like Michael is asking the same questions. 

Jeremy can finally hear himself speak. “I already told you what's wrong! I need the stupid soda!” He shouts, irritated. He grips Michael's arm.

Michael looks shocked and he wrenches his arm free from Jeremy’s binding vise. He visibly recoils and stares at his friend slack jawed. 

“Maybe… maybe it's time we weaned you off it. I don't think it's good for you anymore.” Michael says hesitantly.

Jeremy gives Michael a look of absolute loathing. A sweeping, judging look from top to bottom, as if he's sizing him up. His hands start shaking again and he sits on them not just to hide them, but so that he doesn't last out and hit something - or God forbid - someone. He breathes in for three seconds, out for three… screw it. 

“Why?” He asks simply. The underlying tone can't be hidden. It sounds so threatening. 

“Look at how you're acting. Like… you're acting like an addict.” Michael places the back of his hand on Jeremy's forehead. He's burning up.

“It's not an addiction!” Jeremy shouts in his friends face. “Besides, even if it was - which it isn't - it's just soda.” He's become desperate. 

Michael shoots up from his place on the couch and clenches his fists. “It doesn't matter! Any addiction is bad! As long as you're relying on it, it controls you.” The tone of his voice goes down considerably at the end of his sentence, like he's afraid to say it out loud. 

The silence that crackles through the air is unbearable. Jeremy's hands are barely held down under him. He resists the overwhelming urge to push Michael as hard as he can. He doesn't understand anything except for the fact that he needs Mountain Dew.

“You're the one who was addicted to weed.” Jeremy whispers. 

He knows Michael hates it when he brings that up, and as soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets saying them. Michael purses his lips and narrows his eyes. 

“Bed. Now.” He barks out shortly. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that-” 

“Drop it.”

“Seriously, I'm sorry!” 

“Drop it!” Michael’s voice is dangerously quiet. 

Jeremy stands up and brushes past Michael. He feels like the biggest piece of shit in the world. How does Michael do that to him? He always makes him feel guilty for lashing out, yet his pride is too blown up for him to apologise. 

He flops down on his bed and stares at the ceiling in the dark. Even though he can't see it, he knows it's there. That's what his anger feels like. There one second, gone the next. He prepares for another sleepless night and drops his head onto his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I wrote this at 2am and I was half asleep


	12. quick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends please listen to: Idealism - Midnight, somewhere

Michael watches Jeremy retreat to his room out of the corner of his eye. Once he's sure the coast is clear he nearly falls onto the couch and combs his hands through his hair.

Why? Why does this always happen? Just when everything feels okay for once, it all has to come crashing down. He just wants everything to go back to normal. What is normal? Everyone has a different idea of it, but for Jeremy and Michael, it should be the same. 

Too many questions. Michael exhales and lets everything out. He focuses on the things around him. 

All the lights are off, but the moon is bright. The blue-ish light it gives off is calming, but it makes Michael anxious. He starts off to bed and halts halfway down the hall. Down the hall again and to the left. 

Jeremy's door is pushed open by a gentle hand. The hideous creaking noise is almost enough to make Michael quit, but he opens the door anyway. Jeremy’s lamp-like eyes stare at Michael inquisitively. 

“Hm?” Jeremy sits up and frowns. “Hey, you know I didn't mean it.”

Michael pretends like he doesn't hear and talks over Jeremy's sentence. “I'm just here to see if you took my socks. They're not here, so I'm going to bed. Good night.” His voice is completely flat. 

Jeremy looks at Michael and scrunches his eyebrows together. He opens his mouth to say something, but Michael swings the door shut and goes to his own room before he can.

Why did I do that? Oh, here we go with the questions again. Maybe there is no reason, or maybe there is a reason but he’s searching too hard, so it hides itself. 

He pulls his pillow over his face and feels his chest shaking. When did he start crying? Agh, stop! He didn't even notice the tears pricking the corners of his eyes. 

“God, I'm so fucking pathetic.” He blots his face with his pillow and sits up again. “No more crying. You're not a baby.”

He rubs his eyes with balled-up fists and takes a shaky breath. “You’re gonna go to sleep now. No more questions, no more crying. And no more talking to yourself. It’s getting weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am very very tired hah ;) does anyone else talk to themselves? I do it all the time and it saves me from panicking. Like if i get a bad test score: "U r fine homeboy just do good on the other tests." like okay cool why am i talking like this i dont know 
> 
> good bye thank u


	13. No lazy boyes allowed here

Michael's eyes snap open and he sits up in bed so quickly it makes his head spin. He doesn’t know why he’s awake. He wants so desperately to just lie down and go back to sleep, but the numbers on the clock seem to glare back at him, daring him to stay in bed for another second. Whatever. He feels like shit now, but as soon as he’s up and moving he’ll be okay. 

He shoves his glasses on haphazardly and stops for a second to figure out why he’s even mad. The events of the night before flood into his head at once. Oh, right. He fought with Jeremy because he’s stupid. 

The messiness of his room is starting to bother him. He yanks the curtains open and tugs on the window. When was the last time he opened it? Now that light is flooding into the room he can see just how much dust and cobwebs are floating around. He swipes the cobwebs down with his hands and decides to get to the big stuff. Clothes, books, shoes. It’s funny how this kind of chore is something he hates doing but it always makes him happy to see how clean everything is. 

Michael steps back and admires his work. Nice. 

He stumbles over to the kitchen and digs around in the fridge, unearthing a container of yogurt which he eats in two bites. Where is Jeremy? He usually wakes up first. By now he’d be on the couch, scrolling through some stupid forum. 

Michael stands up and stretches his arms before he goes to put his spoon in the sink. 

“What the heck?” He mumbles.

There is a mountain of dishes in the sink. He washed everything last night! Jeremy can’t expect Michael to clean up after his mess. 

The dishes are the last straw. Michael can practically feel his sanity crack. 

“Jeremy!” Michael cups his hands and bellows. “Get over here right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof let's just pretend like I didn't disappear for a while cuz I'm lazy. Anyways, I'm back and i know y'all would rather not have me here but too bad ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
